out of her mind.

She rejoiced to find Mr. Martindale unconscious that it was not far from
two o'clock. He said he had been glad of time to finish his letters,
and Arthur, as his eye fell on one of them, asked, 'What is Percy doing
now?'

'He has been in Anatolia, going over some of the places we saw together.
He has made some discoveries about the Crusades, and is thinking of
publishing some of his theories.'

'Did I not hear of his writing something before this?'

'Yes; he sent some curious histories of the eastern Jews to some
magazine. They are to be published separately, as they have been
very successful; but I am glad this book is to be what he calls
"self-contained." He is too good to be wasted upon periodicals.'

Violet, curious to know who was this literary correspondent, glanced
at the letter, and read the address, to 'Antony Percival Fotheringham,
Esquire, British Embassy, Constantinople.' She started to find it
was the surname of that lost betrothed of whom she thought with an
undefinable reverent pity.

All speculations were put to flight, however, by the entrance of the
luncheon tray, containing nothing but slices of cold mutton and bread
and butter. With a grievous look of dismay, and lamentable exclamation,
she began to pour out explanations and apologies, but the gentlemen
seemed too intent on conversing about Mr. Fotheringham either to hear
her or to perceive anything amiss.

She remembered black looks and sharp words at home; and feeling
dreadfully guilty at having failed immediately after her resolutions,
she retreated to her room, and there Arthur found her in positive
distress.

'Oh, I am so much concerned! It was so wrong to forget those biscuits.
Your brother ate nothing else yesterday at luncheon!'

'Is that all?' said Arthur, laughing; 'I thought something had happened
to you. Come, on with your bonnet. Fancy! John will actually walk with
us to St. Cross!'

'Let me first tell you how it happened. There are a couple of ducks--'

'Let them be. No housekeeping affairs for me. Whatever happens, keep
your own counsel. If they serve you up a barbecued puppy dog, keep a
cool countenance, and help the company round. No woman good for anything
mentions her bill of fare in civilized society. Mind that.'

Violet was left imagining her apologies a breach of good manners. What
must Mr. Martindale think of her? Silly, childish, indiscreet, giggling,
neglectful, underbred! How he must regret hi